


Living | Boxer!Iwaizumi

by BlueSimba



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Determination, Gen, Originally Posted on deviantART, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-08 20:07:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5511383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueSimba/pseuds/BlueSimba





	Living | Boxer!Iwaizumi

His eyes are lost—trying to scout all the possibilities, categorize them, and counteract whatever’s slung at him. They’re drowning in irregular variables, something he shouldn’t be so concerned with right now, but he can’t help it. Nerves accelerate, feasting on unpredictable throws, and anxiety—what rests on this match, why he _needs_ to succeed. 

Iwaizumi’s mind is crushed beneath immense weight, so much so that any normal man would’ve shattered instantly. His wrapped fists are tightened while his mind combats an invisible threat—something that he just can’t hit _over and over_ again until it breaks; it’s not as simple as that, he can’t assault it with his fists like he’s used to. Teeth roll over his lip, compressing the tender flesh, and he doesn’t even realize his own actions. After everything he’s undergone—the intense training, relentless beatings, and unimaginable pressure riding on every single moment—minimal pain to his lip is almost nonexistent. 

Legs shake, staggering in a pitiful effort as the gong rings. It’s the continuation for the next round. As loud as the gong is, it doesn’t even compare to the howls from the audience as members shout several chants. Some are for him, articulating the syllables in his name, and some are for his opponent, someone who’s in the same physical state as Iwaizumi. Pulverized. 

Aching fingers desperately clutch to a thin thread of hope that taunts his hands—rolling in the sweat he’s garnered. It’s slippery, coated in all of his efforts, gradually weaving out of his vision. The thread takes almost all of his ambitions, his aspirations, everything he’s worked so _hard_ for, without a second thought. 

Iwaizumi stumbles to the center of the ring. Immeasurable torment ripples from every step, causing disorientation; his fists feel heavy, like they’re being dragged to the ground, along with the rest of his battered body. Fog hovers over his mind, and blankets it in an unwelcomed haze, something that rapidly disintegrates his chances of victory. Iwaizumi can feel how damaged his organs are with every unstable breath he takes in.

Eyes are immersed in doubt.

_How easy would it be to give up?_

Vision is blotched, not only by physical damage, but by uncertainty. Fighting spirit, once ferocious as a wild tiger, scuffles away—fearing for what it has—clinging to what hasn’t been taken away from him yet. It’s just a matter of time before he’s stripped of everything. 

His fists sink. They cripple to the unbearable gravity of the situation, he’ll figure out something after this, a job to provide meager money he can scrape by with after this. 

The situation is dismal, despite his naturally fortified character. Weighted fists are almost fully plummeted into a raging sea of despair. 

An explosive yell rings in his ears—easily identified. It’s a familiar voice, one he’s heard from its softest tones to its most boisterous. Iwaizumi knows its range by heart, and if he had to describe it, he’d call it vibrant, something to keep him working. He’s motivated by it.

Straightforward, that’s what it is. 

_“Hajime!”_

Iwaizumi’s eyes flood with revelation, outshining a combusting supernova. Pride shatters the layer of doubt, replacing it with ignition—sparks to carry on. He’s found something else to clutch, something he’d gladly fight for.

His eyes live.


End file.
